For Punctuality's Sake
by justinebeckoning
Summary: Drake's got quite a way of winning a bet. Slash.


Fic: For Punctuality's Sake

**Fic:** For Punctuality's Sake  
**Author:** justinebeckoning  
**Pairing:** Drake/Josh... shocking, I know.  
**Rating:** It's a definite M.  
**Disclaimer:** I'm pretty sure Dan Schneider's never written shameless smut for our boys. (And if he has, please let me know where I can find it, because I'd die of happiness.)  
**Author's Note:** This is what I like to call "putting off working on one fic by writing another." I couldn't help it, this idea popped into my head this morning and I had to get it out. Nothing major, just a smutty little one-shot.

Drake leans against the car window and sighs exaggeratedly for the third time since they've been in the school parking lot. "What time is it now? Isn't Megan ready yet?"

Josh looks at his watch. "Six twenty," he replies. "Which means they should be out in about... fifteen minutes."

Drake grumbles something Josh doesn't quite catch, although he's sure it's about stupid oboe practice and evil little sisters, just like it has been ever since they pulled out of the driveway. Drake hits the back of his head against the passenger seat and looks up at the ceiling of the car. "You just had to get here so early, didn't you."

"Hey! I'll have you know that punctuality is a virtue." He looks over at Drake. "And unlike some of us, I do try to be virtuous every now and then." He can see the question forming in Drake's eyes, so before it hits his mouth and asks him something about what being on time has to do with poking holes in things, he shuts it up with a quick "never mind."

Drake huffs. "I know what punctual means," he tells him, even though Josh thinks he's lying. Drake rolls his eyes, but then his expression changes. "You know," he says, "I bet I'd make a good oboe player."

"What?" Josh says, amused. "You were just saying half an hour ago that you thought band was even nerdier than science club." Drake shrugs. "And besides, I can't believe you'd want to play the same instrument as your little sister."

Drake makes a face that says he hasn't thought about it that way, but he doesn't alter his story. "Well, I'd be better than Megan," he argues. "At least I wouldn't make the thing squawk like a sick bird in the living room when other people are trying to watch _Celebrities in Elevators_." He folds his arms across his chest.

"Dude, Megan's been playing for four years and she's still not that great. What makes you think you'd be any better?"

Drake gets that familiar look on his face, the one that's part arrogance and part mischief and sooner or later ends up with the two of them grounded for a week. "Okay. I'll bet you, Josh Nichols, that I can prove to you right now I'd be better at the oboe than I am at the guitar." He leans in close, his words taunting.

"Ha," Josh snorts. "Deal. I don't see how you're going to prove anything sitting in—" And all of a sudden Drake's lips are crashing against his, and his tongue is pressing against Josh's lower lip, demanding entry. Josh is still lightheaded from the surprise of it, even more so than he usually is when he can sense Drake's urgency in his kisses and feel his uneven breaths hitting his cheek. Drake clambers over into the driver's seat, into Josh's lap, and finds a spot for his arm around Josh's shoulders so he can pull him deeper into the kiss. When Drake bites at his lip and lets his free hand drop down to his collarbone, Josh forgets that they shouldn't be doing this in the school parking lot, with the marching band practicing a few hundred yards away, or that he even has a sister who's about to head out to the car at any minute.

He comes to his senses after a bit and pulls away, Drake staring back with wide eyes full of wanting. As he readjusts to air and other overrated necessities, he smirks up at him. "Don't think you're getting out of it so easily," he says. "Not that I mind your stalling methods, but you've got a bet to make good on."

"Nuh-uh," Drake says. "That's exactly what I was doing. I'll explain to you how this—" he punctuates his point with another kiss—"proves I'd be _awesome_ at playing the oboe."

"How do—oh." Drake's lips are on Josh's jawline, and he's kissing the line of stubble that Josh didn't have time to shave this morning, and Josh knows he had a thought but it's long gone now.

"See, a guitar player has to use his hands to play music, right?" Drake's got his hands under the hem of Josh's shirt, and they're skimming over the muscles of his stomach so lightly, making Josh crave his touch. He leans in toward Drake, pleading for more of those fingertips on his skin. "You have to be really good with your hands, and your fingers, and all that." He goes in for another kiss, and he lets his fingers drop down to Josh's jeans. "Lots of complicated chords to play. You've got to be good. And luckily, I am very, very good." They demonstrate his point for him, finding Josh's button and zipper of their own accord. Josh probably couldn't argue with his logic if he were thinking straight, so he doesn't try.

"But an oboe player, that's different." Drake's got the seat back now, and he's sliding downward, and if this didn't all feel so good it'd be painful how much Josh wants to feel his hands on him everywhere. Drake's hands dip down into the elastic of his waistband and tug, and he shudders. "An oboe player has to be good with his hands, too, to play the notes. But that's not all." He feels Drake grip around him and start to stroke slowly. Words come to his mind that he'd be embarrassed to say out loud, but when he looks down and sees Drake's satisfied grin, he figures somewhere in the overload of sensation that's whizzing through his nervous system, a signal slipped out to his vocal chords along the way. "No, no. You see, an oboe player has to be just as good with his hands as he is with his mouth." And when he lays out his evidence for that statement, Josh decides that the debate team could use a secret weapon like Drake on their side. Then thoughts starts to get lost altogether, and Josh reminds himself to tell Drake about it _much later_, because right now he's got more important things on his mind. Like the fact that his brain is exploding right now in the midst of the wetness and the heat and the _oh._

When the world starts to come back into focus in between the waves of exhilaration, Drake is back up on Josh's lap, smiling proudly. "See? I told you I could prove it to you."

"Yeah," is the only response Josh can piece together while he waits for his heartbeat to quit pounding in his ears. Drake's already back in the passenger seat and checking for signs of middle-schoolers.

"You win," Josh says. "You've got me convinced." He adjusts the seat and straightens himself up. "Any way in particular you wanted to collect on that bet?"

"Oh, trust me, I've got some ideas." He grins and winks, just as a door opens and a flock of kids with instrument cases emerge. Josh waves Megan over to the car, and she climbs into the backseat.

"How was oboe practice?" Josh clears his throat so his voice sounds as normal as possible.

"It was fine." Megan says. "I hope I kept you two waiting. Boobs." She looks smug and accomplished thinking about the horror of her two brothers being seen sitting in a parking lot, waiting to chauffer their little sister around.

Drake sneaks a smile in Josh's direction, and for once, Josh is more than happy to let her get every ounce of evil enjoyment possible out of this. Next week, he decides, he should start insisting they get here half an hour early, for punctuality's sake. He's sure Drake won't have any complaints.


End file.
